Penelope alone wore a waxed cloak, offered to her by the mercenary Harlan. She'd been intent on declining it, but Vale had snatched it off the man before she'd ever gotten the chance. She wore it with a sullen expression, seeming more worried about the increasingly withered expressions on the face of the freezing Sea Serpents than she was glad for her own relief from the cold.
The only thing that she'd been able to off them was the start of a small fire with her magic. She'd been careful to hide her purple flame from prying eyes, and to make it look like the work of flint and steel, but with wood so wet, they wouldn't have managed any other way.
The men fought for places around it.
"Move," Harland said, jabbing a man with his foot. "The Commander hasn't been allowed the slightest use of the flames yet. Are you intent on seeing our strongest fighter frozen through?"
"Leave him," Vol said. "I won't want to move if I give in to the warmth."
